


What It Wants...

by GillianInOz



Series: The Heart Wants [2]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16281989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: Follwing the events in The Heart Wants, Morse and Thursday are still involved in their clandestine relationship, but an unexpected attack on Endeavour forces Fred to confront his feelings, and things will never be the same for him again.





	What It Wants...

The phone rang just as Thursday had lit his last pipe of the evening and leaned back in his armchair to enjoy it.

“Bugger,” he said, hoping it was Joan, or Win’s friends calling about the bingo or suchlike.

“Dad?” Win called. “It’s Sergeant Strange.”

Fred frowned as he heaved himself to his feet. Strange? He wasn’t on nights this week, surely. “Thursday,” he said shortly down the phone.

“Sir,” Strange said, the tone of his voice in just that one word enough to stiffen Fred’s spine. “I’m with Morse, at his flat. You better come, sir, he won’t let me take him to the hospital.”

Fred turned his back on the empty hall and lowered his voice automatically. “Hospital?” he said softly, heart pounding hard in his chest. “What’s happened?”

Strange hesitated. “Please, just come, sir. I’m afraid to leave him on his own.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Thursday said briskly. “Stay with him. Look after him until I get there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You going out, Fred?” Win said from the kitchen door.

“I’ll try not to be late,” Fred said, keeping his face and voice even from long practice. “But don’t wait up, love.” He shrugged into his coat and picked up the keys for his own seldom used motor. 

Win studied his face in the harsh hall light. “Take care,” she said, as she always did. “Come home safe.”

888

Thursday drove the rain darkened streets as quickly as he could within the bounds of safety, his mind racing. It was after 9pm, Morse and Strange would have left work hours ago surely? Although Morse had been known to linger on when there was a case he was working through. Or maybe he’d been out for a pint with Strange? 

What the hell had happened? 

Strange opened the front door before Thursday reached it, sighing with relief. “Thank god,” he muttered. 

“What’s happened?” Thursday stopped dead in the doorway at the sight of Morse sitting huddled in his armchair, a blanket around his shoulders. There was a bloody bump on his forehead, a scrape on his right cheek, and the hands that clutched the blanket to his throat were torn and scratched, leaving reddened prints on the worn old wool. “Morse?”

“I’m all right,” Morse said, leaning back in his chair as Thursday rushed across the small expanse of the room and crouched down next to him. “I told Strange not to bother you, it’s nothing a little antiseptic won’t fix.”

Thursday was taking it in, the contusion, the blood, the reddened, tear swollen eyes. “Who did this?” he said coldly. He knew an assault victim when he saw it, knew that dazed expression, the shamed darting of the eyes as Morse refused to meet his gaze.

“Please,” Morse said desperately. “Please just go home and leave me alone.”

Thursday set his jaw, biting back the snarl in his throat. He ignored Morse’s plea and stood up, facing Strange. “The hall,” he ordered. “Now.”

Morse hunched further in on himself as Strange looked from him to the Inspector, but the big man could only shake his head regretfully. “Sorry, matey,” he said to Morse.

In the hall Thursday took off his hat and faced the younger man squarely. “Who did this to him? What happened?”

Strange straightened his shoulders. “I’d forgotten my tickets at the station,” he said, as if he were reading a report of a crime from his notebook. “So I nipped back to get them from my desk and I heard…” He bit his lip. “I heard someone cry out, from the far side of the car park. Where the bins are. I saw two figures, one shoving the other one against the wall, and I yelled out. The big one sort of stepped back when he saw me and the little one – I didn’t know it was Morse then – he swung around with his elbow, got the big bloke in the neck. The big one went down and Morse just fell on him and started kicking seven bells out of him, sir.”

“Who was it?” Thursday said grimly. “Did you see his face?”

Strange hesitated. “It was Higgins, sir. DS Higgins as was, from Robbery.”

Thursday narrowed his eyes. Former DS Higgins had been broken down the ranks just a few weeks before for pilfering from crime scenes. It had been Thursday who’d put together enough pieces from enough complaints to pin the culprit down. Higgins wasn’t sacked, not yet, but his career in the force was over, and everyone knew it.

Had Higgins attacked Morse because Morse was his favoured bagman? Or did he somehow know that Thursday and Morse were intimately involved? 

“The thing is, sir,” Strange said, his face stoney. “Morse was… It looked like Higgins had pulled his trousers down, sir.”

Thursday’s blood ran cold.

“Morse was dragging them up when he started kicking Higgins,” Strange said in a rush, as if glad to get it out. “I sort of froze when I saw that, and Higgins got up and scarpered, sir.” Strange hung his head. “I’m sorry. He got away.”

“He won’t get far,” Thursday said coldly. Strange hesitated. “Anything else, Sergeant?”

“I wanted to take him to the hospital, sir, but he just yelled at me when I tried to insist. So I wrapped him in a blanket from my boot and brought him home. That’s when I called you.”

“Thank you,” Thursday said, looking back at Morse’s door with dread. “You did the right thing.”

Strange nodded, his mouth tight. 

“I don’t have to tell you, Sergeant. Not a word of this, to anyone. Understood?”

“I wouldn’t, sir,” Strange assured him. “I just wish I’d got there sooner.”

888

Thursday closed and locked the door behind him, leaning back against it with a sigh.

“Finished talking about me behind my back?” Morse accused angrily.

“I’m going to call DeBryn,” Thursday said. “Get him to meet us at the hospital.”

Morse reared up in the chair, eyes panicked. “No,” he said loudly. “No, I’m not going to the hospital. It’s just a few scrapes, I’m all right.”

Fred sat down heavily on the side of Morse’s bed. A bed where he’d spent so many happy hours in joyful play with his lover. Morse’s hair was sticking up, his red rimmed eyes were wild. “Did he rape you?”

Morse’s already pale skin whitened and his bloody fingers gripped the edges of the blanket, drawing it more tightly around his shoulders. He shook his head.

“Would you tell me if he had?” Thursday said evenly.

Morse swallowed and looked away. “He didn’t,” he said hoarsely. “He put his hands… he hurt me, but...”

“Morse, please,” Thursday said, his heart breaking. “You’ve got a nasty bump on your head, and you could have a concussion. At least let DeBryn look at you. Please? For my sake?”

Morse kept his eyes down. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Max is a friend. He won’t tell anyone anything we don’t want him to. Please?”

Morse looked helplessly down at his own hands, fingers relaxing their death grip on the car blanket. “I’ve got blood on Strange’s blanket,” he said blankly.

Thursday stood and gently grasped the edges of the blanket, drawing it back up and over Morse’s shoulders, careful not to touch him as he flinched. “Then a little bit more won’t hurt,” he said. “I’ll make a few calls and we’ll go.”

888

Morse was a bit shaky on his legs as they went back out into the night air and climbed into Thursday’s car, but the older man didn’t attempt to touch him. He felt frozen inside, frozen with fear and anguish and rage. Had Morse been raped? What could he do to help him if he had? What the hell was he supposed to do? He’d been dealing with victims his entire career, one way or another, but to see that dazed, shell-shocked look on Morse’s face, the tremor in his hands and voice. It was almost unbearable.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Morse looked out the window at the passing traffic as they slowed at an intersection. “I was working late, got caught up,” he said slowly. “Didn’t realise how late it was. I was hungry,” he recalled. “My stomach growled and I looked at the time.”

“Go on,” Thursday probed gently, in the same voice he used for victims or their families.

“I never saw it coming,” Morse said, shaking his head and then lifting a hand with a wince.

“You all right?”

“Just a headache,” Morse said. 

“Can you tell me the rest?”

“I was just walking through the car park towards the bus stop, and then I was going down. He king-hit me,” he said, probing with long fingers at the back of his skull. 

“We’ll make sure the doctor takes a look at that bump too.”

“He dragged me up,” Morse went on, frowning in recollection. His voice was still dazed, but a little stronger, as if the effort of marshalling his thoughts was clearing his mind a little. “I think by my collar, and my hair.”

Thursday clenched his jaw, clamping down on the howling rage within him. He was experienced enough not to show that rage to a victim, but by god it was building a head of steam. When he could let it loose he was going to explode. He was looking forward to it.

“He shoved me face first against the wall,” Morse said, feeling at the inflamed scrape on his cheek. “I tried to push away from it, but it was wet and the bricks were all torn and rough.” As his hands and fingers were torn, Thursday could see in the dim lights from the street lamps. 

He pulled into the hospital car park near the mortuary doors, but he only stopped the car, he made no move to get out. Morse needed to purge the rest of this poison, and Thursday needed to hear and know.

“He was holding me against the wall with one hand,” Morse recalled, his breath coming a little faster as the memories assailed him. “And he put his other hand around and pulled at my belt. I fought him,” Morse said fiercely. “He was laughing in my ear but I fought him.”

Thursday bleakly recalled the sheer bulk of Higgins and pictured him using that weight to pin Morse against a filthy brick wall. 

“He grabbed my hair again, and slammed my head against the wall,” Morse said, gingerly exploring the swollen lump on his forehead with his bruised fingers. “I don’t remember much else until I felt his hands on me,” Morse’s white cheeks reddened harshly. “Down there. He squeezed so hard I think I cried out, and then he was letting me go and I…”

“You fought him,” Thursday said. “Strange said you got him down on the ground and started kicking him.”

“Did I?” Morse said blankly.

A car’s headlights flashed through the car park and lit up the interior, and Thursday saw again the bruised and bloodied face, the wide gaze shining with tears, the bitten lips. 

“Morse,” he began, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around his lad and hold him close to his heart. But he knew it wasn’t the time, it was too soon. Morse was dazed with shock and pain, the last thing he needed was someone grabbing at him for their own comfort. He had to think of Morse now, and what was best for him. “There’s DeBryn,” he said hoarsely instead.

888

“What was so important you had to drag me away from my warm fire on a night like this?” DeBryn said as he stomped towards them in the rain, his collar turned up around his throat. “I…” He broke off as Thursday opened the car door and helped Morse out of the front seat. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Let’s just get inside,” Thursday said as Morse shrunk away from his helping hands as soon as he was on shaky legs.

“Should he not be in Casualty?”

“He wants this kept private.”

“He would appreciate not being spoken of as if he wasn’t here,” Morse said, but his shaking voice rather spoiled the effect his grumpy words might have had. 

DeBryn took in the situation at a glance, the swollen lump on Morse’s forehead, the tracks of tears on his lean, scraped cheeks.

“Righto,” he said briskly, darting a quick glance at Thursday’s grim face. “Mad dogs and Englishmen can at least get in out of the rain.”

888

Morse winced against the harsh surgery lights, and again shrunk into himself as Thursday helped him step up onto a gurney. At least it wasn’t a mortuary table, Thursday thought grimly. 

“In the wars again, Morse?” DeBryn said briskly. “I’d like to get through a week without patching you up at least once.”

“He was attacked, outside the station,” Thursday said shortly. “He’s got that goose egg on his forehead, and he was hit from behind as well.”

Morse frowned and felt at the bump on his forehead again.

“Scuse fingers,” DeBryn said, gently moving his hand away. “You’ve got enough gravel and dirt embedded in your face without transferring whatever it is on your hands to the open wounds. Do you know who did it?” he asked Thursday casually as he peered at the scrapes and contusion.

“I do,” Thursday said shortly.

“You do?” Morse turned his head sharply and earned another reproof from DeBryn. “Do you want to pass out, Morse? If you do I won’t be picking you up, I’ll have you on a stretcher and into Casualty before you can say boo to a goose.”

“I’m not going to hospital,” Morse gritted out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing in pain at his sudden movement. 

“Then stay still and let me work,” DeBryn ordered, bustling over to a cabinet and pulling out swabs and a bottle. He poured the brown liquid into the tin dish and hurried back over.

“Who did it?” Morse demanded of Thursday. “Who was it?”

“Higgins,” Thursday said shortly.

Morse frowned and then winced again as Max dabbed at his cheek with the antiseptic. “Who?” He hissed as DeBryn wiped away some grime and gravel from the scrape.

“The DS from Robbery who was demoted for petty theft.” DeBryn soaked another swab and started in on the bump. He cocked a brow at Morse’s confused expression. “Everything trickles down to the mortuary eventually, Morse. One way or another.”

“I don’t know him,” Morse said blankly. 

“He knows me,” Thursday said. 

“Inspector, if you’d be so kind. I seem to have left the tape on the counter. Would you fetch it for me?”

Thursday crossed the cold, shining floor and leaned against the edge of the counter, gripping it hard with both hands. “I don’t see it,” he said, staring at the roll of tape. 

“It’s right there, man,” DeBryn said, then dropped the forceps with the antiseptic soaked pad into the metal kidney tray with a clang. “Never mind. Do it yourself, Max,” he muttered.

He bustled over to the counter and Thursday laid his hand on the tape and met DeBryn’s eyes. “You need to examine him,” Thursday said quietly. “He may have been raped.”

Max’s eyes widened behind his spectacle lenses and he blinked rapidly. Wordless, he nodded, took the tape and crossed back to his patient.

888

“There,” Max said, snipping off the last piece of tape. “You’re going to be sore for a few days, I’m afraid. But you’ve been through worse before, you know what to expect. Some analgesic pain killers and a few nights sleep will do wonders. If the headache persists or gets worse, or there’s any dizziness or nausea, then go to the hospital. Understand?”

Morse nodded, looking down at his hands, fingertips either shining with salve or neatly bandaged. 

“Now, would you like Inspector Thursday to step out of the room for the rest of the examination?” DeBryn said briskly. 

Morse looked up, frowning. “What?”

“Won’t take a minute,” Max said. “Best check and be safe, eh? Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Morse shot an accusing look at Thursday, clenching his fists. “I told you, he didn’t do that,” Morse said angrily. “He grabbed me, he squeezed my… my genitals. But he didn’t… Strange came and I got away, and he didn’t.”

“You said yourself you passed out,” Thursday said gruffly.

“Just for a few moments! I know my own body, Fred, I’d know if he…” Morse glanced at DeBryn, who raised his eyebrows a little, before nodding and bustling to the deep sink. Morse waited until the taps were running, drowning out sound before he stretched out one hand for Thursday to grasp.

Fred was so relieved that Morse had reached for him he almost squeezed those trembling fingers, and only the feel of the bandages stopped him.

“You’ve never hurt me, like that,” Morse said softly, his tear wet eyes holding Thursday’s. “He would have. And I’d know if he had.”

Thursday read the truth in his lad’s eyes and felt the vice that had been tightening around his chest loosen. “All right, Morse,” he said roughly. “It’s all right, doctor,” he called over to DeBryn. “Morse knows his own body, if he says he’s all right, then he’s all right.”

Morse’s shoulders stooped in relief, but he didn’t let go of Thursday’s hand, his other one came up and he gripped Thursday as tightly as his sore fingers would let him.

“Well, all right,” DeBryn repeated dryly, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “I’ll give you a tube of antiseptic cream. When he’s home he can check his genitals for scratches at least. Horrible germy beasts lurking under human fingernails, Morse. Don’t want them festering around your private parts.”

Morse blinked and looked askance at DeBryn. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” he said wryly.

Max smirked. “My usual patients don’t complain.”

888

“Steady as you go,” Thursday said, leading Morse over to his bed and hovering as he sat down with a sigh. “How about a cuppa? Get something warm in you?”

“There’s a bottle of brandy on the table.”

“It can stay on the table. You might be concussed, remember? No alcohol and I’m to wake you up every hour.”

“You’re staying then?”

Thursday sighed and sat down next to Morse on the bed, careful not to touch him. “Not if you don’t want me to,” he said wearily. “Reckon I’ve pushed you around for your own good enough for one night.”

Morse looked down at his hands, chin firming. “He was going to rape me, wasn’t he?” 

Thursday shrugged grimly. “Maybe. In the hands of a man like that, rape is just another weapon. I think he was trying to get revenge on me, by hurting and humiliating you.”

“Do you think he knows about us?” Morse said worriedly.

“I don’t see how he could. And even if he did, surely an anonymous note to my wife would have been a more suitable vengeance?”

Morse frowned and digested this. “Then why me?”

Thursday frowned “It’s well known I’ve favoured you at work. That I’ve been pushing for you to be my bagman since you transferred. I’m afraid I haven’t done you anyx favours with your colleagues by being so openly partisan.” He shook his head. “Perhaps he thought hurting and humiliating you would be some kind of revenge against me. Or maybe he’s just a vicious sod striking out at a promising young copper who’s going places he never will now.”

“How did he think he’d get away with it?” Morse burst out. “He must have known you’d kill him.”

“Another thing rapists count on,” Thursday said darkly. “Is their victims not reporting the assault out of shame.” Thursday reached out and gently touched Morse’s hand. “You know you have nothing to be ashamed of, don’t you?”

Morse hunched his shoulders. “He touched me. I can still feel his hand on me. And he said…”

“What?”

Morse just shook his head. 

“It’s all right, Morse,” Thursday said gruffly. “I can guess what he said. He wanted to hurt me, but was too much of a coward to attack me directly, and like that coward he chose to come at me through someone I love.”

Morse jerked and Thursday stroked his hand gently. “Don’t worry. He won’t come near you again.”

Morse looked down at Thursday’s large hand stroking his own torn and bandaged ones. “Will you put your arm around me?”

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” Thursday admitted, wrapping one arm around Morse and sighing with relief as he leaned against him. 

“You’ve never frightened me. Nothing you do could remind me of him.”

Morse leaned his head on Thursday’s shoulder with a sigh. Within moments his breathing evened out and he was sleeping.

888

Morse stirred as the music softly soared, opening his eyes and blinking in the dim light.

“It’s been an hour,” Thursday said. “Thought music was a better way of waking you up than me shaking your shoulder.”

Morse sat up with a groan, carefully rubbing his sore face. “O mio babbino caro,” he said. “Puccini, performed by Maria Callas. Why did you choose that one?”

“I liked the cover,” Thursday smiled. “The music’s pretty. Sort of soothing.”

“It’s about love,” Morse said softly.

“Aren’t they all?”

“Oh, no,” Morse said. “Not all. There’s lots of jealousy and rivalry and betrayal. But this aria is about a single hearted love that transcends all that.” Morse smiled. “It was a good choice. Ouch,” he hissed as he stood, and Thursday crossed the room and stroked his forearms gently. 

“Why don’t we get your pyjamas on?” he said. “And I can take a quick shufti and make sure you don’t need any of that cream the doc gave us, hmm?”

Morse nodded and undid his belt with fumbling fingers, letting Thursday help him unzip and pull his trousers down his legs. His feet were already bare, as Thursday had carefully removed damp shoes and socks before lifting Morse’s feet up on the bed for his nap. 

“Looks painful,” Thursday said, hissing sympathetically as the mottled bruising was revealed. There were clear finger marks, but no scrapes or scratches that he could see.

“Looks like my private parts are germ free after all,” Morse said unsteadily, and suddenly he was crying, tears pouring down his lean, battered cheeks.

Thursday wrapped his arms around him and drew him close. “That’s right,” he soothed. “You get it out. Draw it out like poison. It’s just bruises, no harm done.” Fred closed his eyes and held his love close, his owns eyes welling with a mixture of grief and gratitude.

888

They ate some soup, listening to the rest of the record, and then Thursday shut out the lights and stripped down to his vest and shorts. He lay down on the bed and smiled gently as Morse curved his back to his front. 

The rain poured down on the street outside, and now and then a car swished by, its lights flashing against the top of the double windows. 

“What about Higgins?” Morse murmured.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thursday said, his arms tightening.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help but worry about it,” Morse said, a little dryly. He sounded like himself for the first time that night, and Thursday smiled and dropped a kiss on his tousled head. “I have a right to know what you plan to do.”

“Reckon you do,” Thursday conceded.

“I’m not going to report this,” Morse said quietly. “I don’t care if it makes me a coward.”

“You’re no coward,” Thursday said flatly. “And I’ll tell you straight out, if you even suggested to me that you were going to report it, I’d be doing my best to talk you out of it.”

Morse laid his hands on Thursday’s where they rested over his heart. “You would?”

“I wouldn’t consider myself doing my job as your governor if let you put yourself through that,” he said honestly. “It’s not fair, and it’s not right, but rape carries a stigma. And whatever really happened, if I was to pinch Higgins he’d be spreading the tale that he’d had you, just to sink the boot.”

Morse shivered and Fred tucked him closer still against his body. 

“Then what will you do?”

“Strange and I will track him down,” Thursday said. “And we’ll make sure he never lays hands on another soul with the intent to do harm. We’ll make it so that if he even dreams about doing that, he’ll wake up screaming.”

“I don’t think I want to know how you’ll do that,” Morse said faintly. 

Thursday kissed his ear. “Not going to try and talk me out of it, Morse?”

Morse was silent for long moments, then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No I’m not. Just… don’t get caught.”

888

“Are you all right?” Morse whispered, the second time Thursday woke him.

“I’m not the one covered in bruises,” Thursday said, laying back against the pillow, one arm behind his head, the other keeping Morse tucked up securely against him. “I was scared,” he admitted softly. “Scared you’d been damaged in a way I couldn’t mend. Makes a man feel helpless.”

Morse nodded against his shoulder. “Me too,” he said. “It helps, being here with you.”

“Helps me too.”

Morse lifted his head suddenly. “You don’t think your wife is in danger from him, do you?”

“I doubt it,” Thursday’s said, stroking soothingly over the wings of Morse’s lean back. “He’s too much of a coward to come at me straight. That’s why he picked on you.”

Morse’s eyes were wide and bright in the darkness. “You should be with her, just in case.”

Thursday gently pressed Morse’s head back down on his shoulder. “I’m where I need to be,” he said firmly. “Where I want to be,” he amended.

888

“None of this is your fault, Morse.”

“It’s not yours either. You were just doing your job.”

“He targeted you because of me.”

“Even if he did, it’s still not your fault.”

888

“He called me your bitch,” Morse whispered, and Thursday tightened his arms around him in comfort. “He kept saying it. Thursday’s bitch.”

“That sort foul everything they touch,” Thursday said grimly. 

“He can’t touch us,” Morse said fiercely. He covered Thursday’s hand where it was laid over his heart. “He can’t touch this.”

“No,” Thursday said thickly, and he laid gentle lips to Morse’s ear as the young man tilted his head back and sighed. “No one can.”

888

Fred arrived home just after dawn, and walked up the path, shutting the front door behind him. The familiar smells of home hit him, the wood polish Win used on the hall stand, the damp smell of coats drying, the frying of an egg from the small kitchen.

“I’m making you egg on toast, Fred,” Win called out. “Sit down and I’ll bring it to you.”

“I could murder a cuppa,” Fred groaned as he sat the table and toed off his shoes.

Win laid one on the place mat in front of him and dropped a kiss on his head, then sat opposite him while he ate, sipping her own brew as he made short work of the breakfast. She poured him a fresh cup of tea and sat quietly while he sipped it.

“Was it bad?” she asked gently.

Fred felt tears prick his eyes but he blinked them away. He didn’t waste his time feeling guilty about being with Morse behind his wife’s back. What good would it do? At first he’d convinced himself that what happened with another man couldn’t be compared to cheating with a woman. Then by the time he realised that he’d fallen in love with Morse, it was too late to pretend he felt guilt or remorse.

He’d reconciled himself to dying from his bullet wound, and thrown caution to the winds in what he’d thought of as his last days on earth. Indulged himself in an insane affair with a younger man. But it had been weeks since he’d coughed up that shrapnel and been cleared by the doctor, since he’d understood that his life was once again measured in years and not days. And he hadn’t broken off that insane affair, in fact if anything he was more invested in it than ever. 

Morse was the most important person in his life now, that was the truth Fred was forced to face. He was madly, passionately, deeply in love with Morse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was married to Win, he still loved Win, and he couldn’t see himself leaving her. Doing something like that to her, especially now when she was so vulnerable after Joan had left them and hadn’t bothered to even write and let them know she was well. 

All he could do was protect Win from the truth and maintain the fiction that he was still a happily married man. It was the very least he owed her.

“It was a rough one,” he admitted, and that was enough. They both knew that work was kept outside of home as much as possible. “Sorry to leave you alone all night.”

“At least it’s Saturday,” she said. “You can get some rest, can’t you, Fred? You don’t have to go back in this morning?”

“Not this morning,” Fred said. “I might pop in for a few hours this afternoon.”

Win smiled, still looking a bit fragile. “One good thing about an empty house,” she said, lips trembling. “I can always come and give you a cuddle without the kids knocking at the door wondering what’s going on.”

Fred’s heart sank, and he struggled not to let it show. “Sounds good,” he said, resigning himself. He squeezed her hand.

888

He did doze off for a few hours, and when he awoke Win pressed herself against him. Fred kissed and caressed her, gently stroking her breasts and laving her nipples as she sighed and ran her hands over his broad back. For the first time he felt shame, as he used memories of touching and kissing his beautiful lad to harden his prick. He fucked her with his eyes closed, pretending it was Morse underneath him, Morse’s tightness gripping him, Morse squirming and sobbing with pleasure under his hands.

He used his thumb to stroke her clit and felt relief as she shuddered and climaxed. With Morse’s face as he came still firmly in his mind, Fred stiffened and ejaculated, pumping into her and resisting the urge to pull away as she sighed happily and wrapped her arms around him.

In Fred’s mind _this_ was the cheating, _this_ was the adultery. Fucking Win when all he wanted was to be with Morse. God help him, even the last remnants of his love for Win were souring. He had reached the stage where he actually resented having to be intimate with her. 

She fell asleep and he extricated himself from her clinging hands and walked away from the bed without a backwards glance. He showered, washing the smell of her from his skin, roughly scrubbing at his prick, hating himself. Last night Morse had nearly been raped, and today Fred felt as if he’d violated both of them. He’d betrayed himself by having sex when he didn’t want to, and he’d betrayed Morse by using his young lover’s image to make himself hard enough to perform.

Fred shaved swiftly, and when he was patting his face dry he looked into his eyes in the mirror. “I don’t think I can do this any more,” he said in despair. 

He dressed and stood looking at Win in their marriage bed, curled up on her side asleep. He had to go, he had to leave her. Before the last vestiges of his love for her turned to hate.

But how could he? She’d been so desperately unhappy since Sam went away to join the army and since Joan had run off without a word. How could he leave her, depressed and alone? 

He was trapped.

888

Fred let himself into the little bedsit, feeling his heart lift as he stood by yet another bed. Morse was sleeping, face down, rump up, as was his habit. The coldness and shame that had gripped Fred since he’d fucked Win faded, and the love he felt filled him, lighting up the dark spaces. 

He stripped down to his underpants and climbed into the bed, gently drawing Morse against him, stroking over his wide shoulders and lean back.

“Fred,” Morse murmured. Blindly, eyes still closed, Morse lifted his lips for a kiss, and Fred gladly obliged, softly pressing a series of gentle kisses to that sweet bow of a mouth.

“Shhh,” Fred said as Morse moaned and sighed. “Be careful now. You’re still bruised.”

Morse lifted heavy lids and gazed at him. “I don’t care,” he said, his eyes swimming. “Please, Fred. Touch me? Kiss me? Make me forget any hands but yours?”

 _So I can forget any hands but yours too_ , Fred thought. An hour ago he’d been fucking someone else, and Christ, how he hoped Morse couldn’t tell. Well, he might not be able to get hard again so soon, but he could worship Morse with his hands and his lips, he could wipe out the memories of anyone else’s hands for both of them.

 _Never again anyone else but you,_ he swore to himself as he kissed a path down Morse’s throat to his shy nipples. Now when he kissed and licked and sucked at the little pink discs it was with real joy, not duty. He cupped Morse’s flat paps and wiped from his mind cupping Win’s breasts.

He tongue fucked Morse’s belly button, and the soft chuckles and sighs erased the memory of Win sighing beneath him.

He carefully stroked Morse’s bruised penis, hissing a little in sympathy as Morse winced at the ache when it hardened beneath his touch. Gently working it to hardness wiped clean the memory of his thumb on Win’s clit. Fred sucked and licked and stroked Morse to climax, and he kept his eyes open and greedily watched Morse’s face as he convulsed in pleasure and came and came. Gone now was the memory of Win shuddering beneath him.

“I love you so much,” Fred whispered as he cuddled Morse close afterwards. 

Morse lifted his head from Fred’s shoulder and gazed at him. “You do, don’t you?” he said, blue grey eyes wide and shocked.

“I do,” Fred vowed. “I can’t be with you all the time, Morse,” he said, trying to convey how much he wished he could. “But know that when I’m not with you I’m not with anyone else either. My marriage…” He took a deep breath. “It’s in name only from now on.”

Morse blinked. “What?”

Fred smiled at him. “It’s all right, don’t worry about it for now. That’s just something I needed to tell you.”

Morse lifted a shaking hand and cupped Fred’s cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said thickly.

Fred shook his head. “You haven’t,” he said fiercely. “You’ve saved me.” 

Morse studied him for long moments, then smiled tremulously. “I love you,” he whispered. He tucked his head back into the curve of Fred’s neck, his hand laid over Fred’s heart. 

And, finally feeling peace in that heart, Fred held his love close, sure that somehow everything would be all right.

888

“Win, love,” Fred said that night after supper. “Would you mind if I kipped in Sam’s room tonight? I’ve been tossing and turning so much lately, I hardly get any sleep I’m so worried about accidentally hurting you in the night.”

Win studied him, her face worried. “I wondered what was bothering you,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “You’ve barely seemed able to rest since you started back to work. Is it your gunshot wound?”

“In part,” Fred lied. His lungs had been much better since he’d coughed up the shrapnel, although the doctor told him they were scarred, and might give him trouble in the colder months. “It’s also the nightmares.”

“Like when you came back from the war,” Win said gently, and he suppressed his guilt at lying to her. This was the best way, the only way he could continue to live with her. He couldn’t bear the thought of sharing a bed with her again. 

“I suppose,” he agreed. 

Win patted his hand. “Whatever you need,” she said. “Cuppa?”

“Taa.” Fred settled back in the armchair and closed his eyes, planning what he would do when he got his hands on the man who had attacked Morse. The thought of revenge took his mind off his guilt and allowed him to get through the rest of the evening.

That night Fred spent his first night in Sam’s narrow bed. He was still trapped, still caught up in a web of lies, still indulging himself in a love affair with a junior officer, a man. Ahead of him lay a minefield, where the slightest misstep could blow up under his feet destroying all the lives around him.

And yet he closed his eyes with a sigh of utter peace, and slept better than he had without Morse since their first night together.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: description of a sexual assault.


End file.
